


No Easy Answers

by Cleo_Calliope



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Hogfather (TV Movie)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sort of but not really Non-Con, Susan is conflicted, Teatime is crazy, Twisted Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo_Calliope/pseuds/Cleo_Calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She told him to stay away and revelled in it when he came back. She told him she didn't want him and loved it when he proved her wrong. She wanted to hate him and hated herself for not being able to manage it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always the Same

**Author's Note:**

> I had a beta reader for this story AGES ago but that was... well, AGES ago. I could use a new one. If you're an experienced beta familiar with this fandom I'd love to hear from you.
> 
> The story title comes from Poe's _Amazed_.

 

With you there's no easy answer, it's true  
You change the equation that I add up to  
And all of the things I thought I knew  
You turn it around

\- Poe, _[Amazed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fVUUAiQad4)_

 

 

**Chapter 1**  
Always the Same

 

If I had a dollar for every time  
I repented the sin and commit the same crime  
I'd be sitting on top of the world today  
       – Emilie Autumn, _[God Help Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ixjn7IAMbLE)_

 

Susan sat at her dressing table, eyes closed as warm lips traced their way down her neck.  She'd closed her eyes when she heard the tread on the carpet behind her.  There was no need to turn.  Few people could have got in here without her knowing it and by now she knew the sound of his footsteps.

Damn, and the week had been going so well.  Everything had been settling down again into a pattern she could control and direct; exactly the way she liked it.  She should have known it wouldn't last since telling him to stay away was utterly pointless.  It didn’t matter what she said, he always came back to throw her life into turmoil again.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed as hands rose to lightly grip her upper arms, willing herself not to react.  A hint of tongue and the light grazing of teeth against the place where shoulder and neck met, however, caused a shiver to run through her despite her attempts to suppress it.

It was at times like these that she found herself missing Imp and Lobsang; missed them both with a strength of longing that shocked her and brought a guilty flush to her cheeks.  It wasn't the missing but the reason for it that made her uncomfortable.  Because it wasn't for their own sakes that her mind flew to them just now and they both deserved better from her than that.  Just the same, the past was a much safer place to be than the present at moments like these.

Imp had been a shy, awkward gentleman, nervous even to hold her hand when they'd walked together.  He'd played his harp for her, sitting by the floral clock in Genua.  He had even written a song just for her.  The tune had long since faded from her memory along with the scent of the flowers.  Only the warm feeling made up of pleasure and a slight hint embarrassment that had filled her when he'd played it remained.  So many silly things tug at the heart when you're sixteen and for the first time in your life a pretty boy smiles at you in that way.

She hadn't known what to expect when he'd first kissed her.  Her sensible mind telling her that it wasn't going to be what it was in poems and those silly romances the other girls at school all seemed to read.  And she'd been right, of course.  Still, there had been a sweetness to it that had made her heart flutter all the same.  No, it hadn't moved the Disc or stolen her breath.  She'd been the one to steal another, though, her shyness fading in light of the surprise that though it hadn't been all the writers had claimed it would be, it was still exactly what it should have been.  Imp had smiled at her still shy and fascinated and just as pleased.  He had taken the third.

Summer flowers and first loves never last.  Susan didn't regret a moment of it, though.

Nor did she regret her time with Lobsang, different as it was.  It had never more than stolen moments and they’d both known it never could be.  It hadn't stopped them.  Somehow, the impossibility of it all was part of the attraction, as much as his lovely eyes.  Stolen chocolate flavoured kisses, hiding in a closet for the Gods' sakes.  Trying not to laugh too loud for fear that the class of children bent over their papers in the other room would hear.  She'd been older and Lobsang had certainly been no innocent.  The ridiculousness of it all could still make her smile.

What was more; he had understood what no one else ever could.  He knew what it was like, being human and yet not – to be caught forever between the mortal and immortal worlds.  But whereas Susan had always turned to the mortal world, fighting to maintain that in her that which was human and to reject what was not, Lobsang had turned to the immortal one.  That, perhaps, had been part of the fascination as well.  They could each see in the other reflections of the path that they themselves had not taken.

She regretted nothing.  Just the same, she had known when she and Lobsang had said goodbye for the last time that that would be an end to it.

Susan had never been particularly romantic or sentimental and had been educated in a school that enforced her sensible nature.  As proper young ladies they had two choices in life.  They could marry and be competent runners of households or they could choose a life that was their own.  Granted, there weren't many options available to a lady who didn't want to marry but they did exist.

Even in choosing the second of these paths, Susan had had to know just what it was that she was turning her back on.  She was nothing if not practical and she certainly knew better than to spurn the dish untasted, as it were.  And that dish was sweet.  Imp's shy smiles and Lobsang’s anything but innocent kisses had told her everything she needed to know.  Yes, it truly was lovely.  There was a thrill to it and she certainly liked the feeling of being held in a man's arms.  On the other hand they had also shown her that her choice was a sound one.

Sweet and nice and just a touch thrilling... and though she smiled at the memories, she'd tucked them away in her heart firm in the knowledge that it was not the road for her.  She could turn her back on it, content that she knew what she was leaving behind.

If only she truly had.

Her hands clenched around the brush in her lap as a breath escaped from between her lips.  Oh, she missed them – for all the wrong reasons.  As sweet as their kisses were, as lovely as it felt to be held by them, she'd always remained separate from it.  Their kisses hadn't burned and they hadn't left her unsteady and more than a little frightened by her own reaction to them.

She'd still been Susan when their lips parted – her mind still clear and her body still her own.

"What are you doing here, Jonathan?"  Her voice sounded more breathless than she would have liked.  As the lips disappeared from her neck she opened her eyes and forced herself to meet the mismatched gaze in the mirror.

Jonathan smiled warmly at her.  His boyishly good-looking face glowed in the light of the candles on her dressing table, a light that made his blonde curls look almost golden.  The angelic effect, as always, was marred by the glass eye, a shock of darkness against his fair skin.  It wasn't until you looked into his remaining eye, though, with its tiny pupal and mad glint that the illusion was completely shattered.

"I missed you," he said simply.

"Did you," she responded in her flattest tones.  She carefully placed her hair brush back on her dressing table, pleased that she managed to keep both voice and hands perfectly steady.  "Well, I've had a rather long day and..."

"...and you would really rather that I didn't bother you," he finished in a sing-song voice.  She glanced irritably back up at his reflection in the mirror where he was gazing at her with that slightly puzzled expression he always wore when he was trying to figure her out.  "Really, Susan I've never understood why you keeping saying that kind of thing when it isn't at all how you actually feel."

For a moment she considered trying to hit him with the brush, or possibly something heavier.  There was no point to it though.  He'd catch her hand before she could manage it and likely find it amusing, which always made her even more angry.  She was fast, but Jonathan was faster.  She was strong, but he was stronger.  She wasn’t a half-bad fighter when the need arose, but Jonathan had been trained by the best.  The only thing she did have was that she understood him better than he understood her.  The shattered pieces of his admittedly brilliant mind had a very hard time making sense of the workings of a more orderly one.  Which only served to make it that much worse when, at times like this, he had her bang to rights on something she'd rather he _didn't_ know.

Though that had always been part of the problem.  From the first moment she'd met Jonathan Teatime he'd known the important things, the things she most wanted to hide, even from herself.

The first time their eyes met her pulse had raced, shocking her to her core.  And _that_ he had known, damn him.  They hadn't been able to take their eyes off of one another, caught in a battle of wills both with each other and with the unexpected electricity that sparked between them.  It was so strong and so utterly out of the blue...  She’d had no idea before that moment that such a thing was even possible.

It had been almost obscene that she should first feel that kind of heat in a place built of children's dreams.  The pure white of the Tooth Fairy's castle and the knowledge of the confused and innocent spectator to the confrontation in poor Banjo had only served to make her blood pound harder.  It was also then that she'd first discovered just why sex and violence were so inextricably linked in the human mind.  She'd found she could channel her desire to touch him into a desire to strikeout at him.  She'd never actually tried to kill anyone before, collected souls yes, but never killed.  That strange Hogswatch night, though, she had honestly tried to kill Jonathan.

For a time she'd even believed that she'd succeeded.  The fact that he'd tried to kill her first was of no consolation in the aftermath, when her rage had abated and her reason reasserted itself.  She'd felt dirty and distinctly uncomfortable with the rage that had driven her actions rather than the cool calm she was familiar with.  Susan was always composed, always in strict control of herself.

But Jonathan had been able to reach into her and strip away that calm within moments of their first meeting.  That he had known it, even enjoyed doing so, added insult to injury.  Dreams of him had haunted for some time after – of the way his hands felt in her hair, of watching him fall...

Months later, he'd come looking for her, too intrigued by her and by what had sparked between them to stay away.  And as much as she'd wanted to she couldn't throw him back out of her life.

She told him to stay away and revealed in it when he came back just the same.  She told him she didn't want him and loved it when he proved her wrong.  She wanted to hate him and hated herself for not being able to manage it.

"Really, Jonathan," she said stiffly, standing and turning to him face him while putting a bit more distance between them.  She gave him her coldest look.  "I'm not interested in whatever games you’re playing just at the moment.  And I've told you more than once that I dislike it when you break into my home in the middle of the night."

He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her, a small smile of honest amusement that annoyed her no end.

"I don't play games with _you_ ," he said lightly.

"Oh don't you," she snorted.

He giggled, that awful giggle that reminded her just how far Jonathan's perception of reality was from hers.  Gods alone knew what it said about her that the only man she’d ever truly lusted after was mad as a spoon.

"I've always been perfectly honest," he insisted.  “Especially with _you_.”

Susan opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted when he moved.  She'd never known anyone who could move as fast as Jonathan.  One moment he was close, the next he was pressing up against her, his hands sliding around her hips to hold her while his mouth covered hers.

And Gods help her, he was right, damn him.

In his own way he was always honest with her and there was nothing more honest then this.  His hands seemed to burn her skin through the plain cotton of her sensible nightdress.  His mouth was too warm against her own, teeth nipping at her lips before his tongue delved deeper.  Here and now there were no games, just the lust that neither of them could escape from no matter how much Susan wished they could.

She tried to shove him back while turning her head away to break the kiss, only to have her hands captured and pinned between their chests with one hand as he caught her hair with the other, capturing her mouth once more.  His body was pressed to closely to kick and her bare feet would make no impact against his booted ones.

Still, she managed to twist one hand free and tried to pull his hair while tilting her head away.   It did no good.  He released her other hand and transferred his kisses back down across her chin and to her exposed throat.  One hand cupped her breast and he began rubbing his thumb across her nipple through the thin fabric as he began laying small bites along the column of her throat.  Susan couldn’t stop the shuttered gasp or the way her back arched traitorously into his touch.

“Stop it.”  It came out as something between a gasp and a moan as she tried to wrench herself free of him again.  He stepped back just enough that she was able to slip out from between him and the vanity.  She whirled to face him, knowing better than to let him out of her sight.

She couldn’t step too far away though as he still held one of her wrists firmly in his grasp, knowing better than to give her the opportunity of any of her more inhuman means of escape.

If only she could convince him that this wasn't a good idea...  If only she could make him see this the way she did. 

But she knew what he saw and felt, knew he was cataloguing her every response the way he always did.  Her breath coming fast, her pulse accelerated, pupils blown wide, nipples taught enough to be visible through her nightdress, skin flushed, the way her hand trembled as she pushed her suddenly uncooperative hair out of her eyes...  And just why the hell did her hair suddenly become unmanageable when she was aroused?  It was so inconvenient.  And for that matter, when exactly had Jonathan had time to remove his jacket during all that?

“Leave,” she said, her voice no steadier than her hands or her breathing.

“But you don’t actually want me to,” Jonathan said reasonably.  Moving again with that impossible speed he was there again, and this time his hands seemed to be everywhere, finding all the places he’d learned, alternating bites and kisses across her neck and shoulders.  She pushed at him ineffectually, pathetically for someone who knew more than a bit about how do defend herself.

“If you really didn’t want me touching you,” he whispered into her ear.  “You could have taken yourself out of time the  moment you heard me enter the room.”

She wanted to curse him but he wasn’t wrong.  She could have.  Susan was not, and never would be, entirely human.  She could have stepped out of time and fled, leaving him standing alone in her room but the fact was that the idea had never even crossed her mind.  And even if it had...  She doubted she would have done it.  Somehow the idea of using her inhuman talents to run from Jonathan was one she couldn’t stomach for reasons than she couldn’t begin to guess at.

If only he could understand the horror she herself felt when she watched herself at times like these – kissing him back in spite of herself now.  Allowing him to press into her so she could feel the coolness of his waistcoat buttons warming between them.

She shouldn't be acting like this, shouldn't want him, shouldn't allow him to pull her into this time and time again.  She wanted to hate him for making her feel like this, wanted to hate him even more as hands that had been trying to push him away now clutched in the fabric of his shirt as he shrugged out of his waistcoat.  She couldn't though.  She couldn't because for all that he was a killer, not just an Assassin, and that he was homicidally insane – he honestly meant no harm in this.

He honestly didn't see why she told him to go away when he knew for a fact that she wanted him there as much as he wanted to be there.  He pressed his advantage, not because he felt her rejections to be meaningless but because he knew that she longed for this, enjoyed the feeling of being pushed past her own logical objections to the place where instinct took over.  He knew damn well she could make him stop if she really wanted to.  She had in the past – all too infrequently, much to her shame.

This heat had been between them from that first moment.  What was the point in pretending it wasn't there when they both knew it was?  What was the point in refusing themselves something they both wanted so very much?  From his shattered perceptions Jonathan had built a rational world and her disgust was illogical from where he stood.

A particularly hard nip sent a shutter through her body and the small part of her brain still functioning noted that she’d have to wear one of her high-necked gowns tomorrow to cover the marks. She hated that that knowledge caused a flood of heat deep inside.

She'd chosen to turn her back on men and lust and all the mess that was physical interaction.  But Jonathan had pulled her back in it.  He’d pressed her in a way no other man could since he was the only one she'd ever met that made her feel as he did.

And so she was here once again, finding herself so far gone as to actually be helping to undo the buttons on his shirt as he undid his trousers.  She allowed herself to be pressed back onto the mattress and didn't fight as one of his hands slid under her gown to seek out the places only he had ever touched.

All the while he murmured her name against her skin; whispered words about how soft she felt, how wonderful she smelled, how he loved it when she made those soft sounds when he touched her.

She's had men say sweet things in her ear before, of course.

Susan had inherited a sizable fortune, not to mention a sovereign duchy, when she was barely into her teens and there were plenty of men out there who had tried to turn her head because of it.  But the things Jonathan said were different.  There was no art or poetry to them, sometimes there was barely any real coherence.  He didn't speak at times like this because he thought these were things she’d want to hear or because he thought he was expected to say them.  They were nothing but his thoughts, tumbling unbidden from his lips.  She hated knowing that.  It rendered the soft murmurs at times like these real in a way she was unused to, having been raised amid all the pretence of the aristocracy.  She hated even more that she liked the things he said, hated that they made her heart ache and made her reach out for him, pulling him more firmly against her.

Biting her lip she managed to hold back a gasp as he pressed inside of her, but a tiny sound in her throat did escape and Jonathan's sigh was not quite loud enough to drown it out.

At least he wasn't being adventurous tonight.  Sometimes he showed up with a particularly mischievous grin that meant he'd been reading again and had found something that he thought would be ever so much fun to try.  She hated when that happened as nearly always his experiments required a greater amount of participation from Susan than this, than lying back allowing him to do as he pleased.  And she hated not him but herself for that.

She wanted him, was more than willing to lie with him but she didn't want to have to admit it.  She _wanted_ him to do this, to pull her into it in spite of her objections, to move his hands over her until she could blame her body for giving in, absolving her mind and reason from any culpability.  It was nothing but cowardice, she knew.  Something she had no patience for usually.  But the alternative – admitting to herself, to _him_ , that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her…  She couldn’t face that.

For now though she allowed things to be as they were; hating both him and herself for it.  She arched her back gasping as Jonathan sped up, moving strongly inside her.  His face was flushed and his eyes wide, sweat plastering his golden curls to his skin.  He always looked faintly surprised when he was inside her.

She knew he hadn’t expected to enjoy physical intimacy as much as he did.  Like Susan, Jonathan had written off the desires of the flesh as silly and not worth the trouble.  Like her, he hadn't expected it to be so powerful, to be able to sweep all thought away when done right and leave nothing but emotion and instinct behind.

Unlike her though, he found no shame in the enjoyment of it.  To him, it was an unexpected gift and to be savoured as such.

She hated too the way he looked at her, amazement and wonder and admiration.  He looked dazzled by her and she hated the way that made her feel.  She wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers so she wouldn't have to look at his expression.  He kissed her back heatedly, his tongue mimicking the movements of their bodies below.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours or perhaps hours contracted into minutes.  Susan lost all track of the passage of time as they moved together.  Sometimes they shifted as a leg grew stiff from being in one position too long, seeking comfort and a better angle.  Once he pulled back too sharply and accidentally slipped out of her entirely; giving a huff that was half annoyance and half amusement before he pushed back inside.

In these minutia Susan found herself taking comfort.  These were the things the poets never talked about in the 'lists of love', the mundane realities of physical action in what increasingly felt like an unreal world.

Too soon and yet not soon enough frantic motion began to over-take rhythm as the wave began to crest.  Susan's nails bit into Jonathan's shoulders as she fought to maintain some control in the face of the inevitable loss of it.  He groaned, moving faster, the flow of his words having long since become inarticulate sounds of pleasure.  She wanted this – Gods how she wanted this – but her damned pride didn't want to give him everything, wanted desperately to hold something of herself back and so she bit her lip trying deny the building pleasure.  But he cried out as he began, almost a sob of breath and for reasons she couldn't have explained it shot through her like a knife, wrenching her over the precipice only a little after him.  He continued thrusting gently into her, prolonging the pleasure a little longer.  She felt herself jerk and gasp beneath him, riding out the aftershocks.  With a final sigh he pulled from her, tugging her with him as he slid onto his side beside her.

Susan’s breath slowly began to return to normal, her head tucked beneath his chin.  They were both sweaty and sticky and she should be disgusted.  She should not be pressing closer, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex on his skin.

Coming down she was conscious only of the delicious languor throughout her body, the warmth and slide of Jonathan's limbs tangled with her own as they got comfortable... for that little while there was no condemnation or uncertainty.   Rational or not, right or not – this was what _felt_ right.  And for these wonderful moments before her rational mind reasserted itself she was content.

It was a fact she’d hate herself, and him, all the more for in the morning.  She always did.


	2. Wanting Everything

Hating all I am when lying by your side  
Taking everything of me  
Do people mean nothing?  
       – We Are The Fallen, _[Burn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyUoR3NWges)_

 

"I fulfilled a lucrative contract this week," Jonathan said sleepily, snuggling up to her with childlike unselfconsciousness, as though she were an oversized teddy bear.

Inwardly, Susan groaned.  And here she’d thought tonight couldn’t get any worse.

Jonathan had shown up this evening in time for a cup of tea before bed. She loathed it when he did that.  There was something about it that was… well, it was almost as if it were somehow more intimate than sex.  It was… domestic, for lack of a better word.  He’d brought her favourite chocolate biscuits with him too, the bastard.  Then he had insisted they sit in the parlour for a bit.  Even worse, he’d made the tea, brought it out on the tray with the biscuits, made up the tea for both of them (having made a point of finding out exactly how Susan liked her tea ages ago), and had then pulled her onto his lap in one of the oversized comfy chairs Susan felt necessary for any house.  He’d then proceeded to ask all about her day at work, the students, the other teachers, and so on.  What was even more unforgivable was that he paid attention to the answers he eventually pried out of her as though he actually cared.

There were times when Susan felt that this was the worst part about Jonathan.  If it was just lust… well, it would be easier somehow.  But he genuinely seemed to find _her_ , Susan, fascinating.  He seemed to find her opinions intriguing and never seemed to tire of asking her why she handled a situation one way instead of another.  No one, not even _Lobsang_ , had found what she had to say this engrossing and Lobsang become a trusted friend as much as he’d been anything else.

The absolute worst of it all though, at least for her peace of mind, was yet to come Jonathan had insisted on making the tea himself because he said that Susan looked tired.  It was an understatement, she knew.  Susan was _exhausted_.  It had just been one of those weeks.  If it could go wrong, it had gone wrong, and for reasons she couldn’t explain her usual even temper had more or less abandoned her.  She honestly wasn’t sure if the children were acting up more, the other teachers were being more unreasonable, and the parents more stupid than usual or if her patience had simply been worn too thin by dealing with it all for too long.  So, yes – she was tired.  She was worn out and the _last_ thing on her mind was getting into bed for any reason _other_ than sleep.  And, damn him, Jonathan realized this.

He hadn’t even tried anything untoward.  He’d told her to go get ready for bed while he cleaned up the tea things.  It was a testament to her exhaustion that she’d done so without comment.  He’d come up with a small shot of Bearhugger’s finest whisky she always kept on hand – for medical emergencies only, of course.  She’d argued about it, but in the end had drunk it because frankly, after the week she’d had a drink sounded good.  Jonathan had stripped down to his shirtsleeves and drawers before slipping into bed with her.

And that was that.  Susan was tired, clearly too tired to enjoy anything… energetic.  So, Jonathan had seen to it that she had some tea, a nightcap, had blown out the candle, and was now snuggling down next to her as though they were… were…  Well, bugger it, as though they were a real _couple_.  She hated it when he did this, acted considerate and kind.

The evening, she had decided, could not get worse.

Susan really should have known better.

Whenever Jonathan discussed one his contracts it meant something in particular was on his mind.  Something that Susan _did not_ want to talk about.   It made her too uncomfortable in too many ways.

"I can't tell you any of the details, of course," Jonathan went on blithely.   "It's against Guild Rules," the were capitals firmly in place, even in his tone.   "However, it went very well, I think."

Susan refrained from saying he didn't have to tell her any details since she, along with the rest of Ankh-Morpork, already knew them.  Oh, the Guild would never stoop to divulging the name of the Assassin involved in any particular contract but with Jonathan they didn't have to.  His style was somewhat… distinctive.  No other Assassin would leave bits of the client's entrails hanging from a chandelier, for instance.

Susan was fairly sure that the Guild would be less than upset if anything untoward were to happen to Jonathan.  On the other hand, much to the Guild's dismay, he'd gained something of a name for himself.  People were actually approaching the Guild asking for him in particular.  This was something that was new and more than a bit unsettling to the council.  But when someone had a particular grudge and wanted to make sure that their enemy was 'inhumed with extreme impoliteness', they asked for Teatime.  Well, actually, they asked for Tea-time which always annoyed Jonathan who took personal exception to the constant and universal mispronunciation of his name.  But he took the contracts nonetheless.  He had plans.

How _did_ you inhume someone politely, Susan wondered idly.  Could there ever be a proper way of murdering a person?  The Guild seemed to think so but Susan had seen too many people die and there were certainly some things that could never be polite and proper, in her opinion.

"The point is that no one else wanted this particular contract because of the guards.  But I managed it with all the due elegance the Guild required."  This, Susan knew, meant that he hadn't killed any innocent bystanders, pets, or miscellaneous people along the way.  "The guards even survived," he said with some pride.  They'd never walk again, or so the rumour mill said, but it was true that they were still breathing.  It was these little steps that mattered; mutilate without tearing them to pieces.  Sad to think that with Jonathan, that was progress.

"You could say congratulations, you know," he said reproachfully as Susan remained silent.

"Someone is dead," she said stiffly.  "You know how I feel about that."

Jonathan sighed.  "You get on well enough with your grandfather and you don't mind what he does."

Leave it to be Jonathan alone among her entirely human suitors to take her family history seriously.

"Grandfather collects souls _after_ they have died.  He _does not_ kill them."  Usually, she added mentally.  This was a distinction she'd had to make more than once with Jonathan but he seemed honestly incapable of seeing the difference.  Thank the Gods he didn't know that she'd once had to take up the scythe herself.  She'd never told him because while she knew it wouldn't bother him that she had essentially _been_ Death for a while – and damnit it _should_ bother him! – Jonathan would see The Duty as no different than assassination and that was infinitely worse.

"Well, all right.  If you insist," he said, not pleased but clearly willing to allow Susan her little foible.  She decided that she didn't have the energy to smack him.  "The point is that the contract _was_ very lucrative.  If I can manage a few more like that I may be able to be released from my obligations as soon as next year.  Isn't that wonderful?"

"Lovely," she said, trying to make her voice sound drowsy and purposefully slowing and deepening her breathing to make it sound as if she were falling asleep.

Jonathan had been a guild orphan, taken in after the deaths of his parents when he was very young – a subject Susan had carefully never brought up, convinced that there were things she didn't want to know.  All the guilds took in a few orphans every year.  The system wasn't perfect but still, it gave homes and trades to children who would have otherwise been left on the streets.  It wasn't simply charity though.  The guild fed, clothed, and educated their orphans which meant an outlay of money that needed to be paid back.

Each guild had its own rules regarding the obligations of their orphans once they completed their training.  The Assassin's Guild, in particular, required that their orphans live within the Guild House and work only on Guild contracts for the first few years after their graduation to full guild membership to pay off their debt.  It usually didn’t take more than a year or two and unless they had a particular reason to leave, many stayed on long after this, taking the opportunity to build up nice little nest eggs for themselves.  After all, the Guild was a society of gentlemen which meant rather nice suits of rooms for its graduates, decent meals, and all house cleaning and laundry done free.

One of the consequences of the Assassin’s Guild Rules, though, was that until they had fulfilled their obligations those like Jonathan could not marry and set up their own households without the express permission of the Guild Council.  Permission someone like Jonathan was very unlikely to receive.

Since repayment was usually a fairly swift process this shouldn’t have mattered.  In Jonathan’s case, however, even a year after his graduation the Council had, thus far, been refusing to give him any idea of when he'd be released.  Susan suspected that they were fearful of what he might do without restraints placed upon him.  A sentiment she could well understand and most heartily shared.

"It is lovely," he said, not hearing or ignoring her attempt to sound sleepy.  He pressed a kiss on her temple.  "We could be married then," he said softly.

Susan said nothing and hopped to hell that her faked sleep would be taken for actual sleep.  She never knew what to say at times like these.  She'd never intended to marry and even if she had she wouldn't have wanted to marry someone like _Jonathan_.  It wasn’t just out of the question, it was truly insane.  So far, she'd managed to avoid the subject whenever he brought it up, but he was nothing if not persistent.  It seemed impossible to make him understand that whatever this thing was that existed between them, it wasn't love.  The fact that it had lasted a whole year so far didn't mean anything.  It probably wouldn't last much longer; at least she hoped it wouldn't.  Even if it did last as long as another year it certainly wouldn't last the rest of their lives.  Gods, what a horrifying thought that was!

And what would Grandfather say?  Inwardly, she shuddered not even wanting to think about that.

"You do want to get married, don't you?"

She continued to remain silent but her feigned sleep apparently didn't fool him.

"Susan?" he asked again when she didn't answer.

Finally, she sighed.  "I don't...  I've never intended to marry.  Ever.  To anyone."

"Why ever not?"  He sounded genuinely surprised and that sparked her temper in spite of herself.

How often had Susan been faced with the assumption that all that she’d worked for over the last several years was nothing but a game, a diversion to pass the time?  How many times had she faced the assumption that all this about her carrier and her independence meant nothing?  She was a _lady_ after all.  Therefore no matter how hard she worked or how independent she became everyone simply assumed that she was just playing until the right man came alone to marry her.  It had become something of a sore spot for Susan.

"Not all women think of nothing but husbands and setting up house," she snapped.

It was Jonathan's turn to sigh, sounding slightly exasperated.  "Of course I know _that_.  There _are_ women in the Guild you know and some of them are the best we have.  Besides, it's not like I'd want you to give up your job or anything silly like that.  I just want us to be married.  Then we can have a house of our own and wake up together every morning and...  Well, maybe we can even have children someday.  Doesn't that sound nice?"

Susan felt twinges both of guilt and of horror.  She knew Jonathan better than to assume he thought no more of her career than most of the men she knew.  If he had one thing in his favour, Jonathan honestly didn’t see that much difference between men and women.  It didn’t help, though, to remember that for the most part they were all just objects to him.

The horror, however, was rather stronger.  Susan suppressed a shudder.  No, what he described did not sound _nice_.   Just the thought of what kind of a child she and Jonathan might produce together scared the hell out of her.

"I don't want to marry."  Susan kept her voice utterly steady.  "The reasons are complicated and they have nothing to do with you.  I will not marry.  _Anyone_."

She heard him draw in a breath to speak again, no doubt to ask for an explanation, and interrupted him before he could.

"Please, Jonathan.  It's complicated and I'm tired.  Can we not discuss it tonight?"

_Can we not ever discuss it at all?  Ever?_

There was a pause before he answered.  Then he pressed a kiss to her temple.  "Of course.  I’m sorry, I know you’re tired.  We’ll talk about it later.  Good night."

Susan lay still, staring into the dark with Jonathan's soft breath tickling her neck.  It would be too much to hope that he'd drop the subject.  The thought of marrying him was... well, it was utterly ludicrous.  Only someone as crazy as he was could have thought it was anything else.  But how to make him understand that?

Despite her exhaustion, it was some time before she slept.


End file.
